


Starlight on my Lover's Hair

by capncrystal



Category: Havemercy Series - Jaida Jones & Danielle Bennett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Casual Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Everyone Is Gay, Ivory is tsundere as fuck, M/M, Raphael is a poetic disaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7747150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capncrystal/pseuds/capncrystal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a fight that (temporarily) breaks up his band, Ivory, keyboard player for the Three Maidens, picks up a groupie he's been noticing at several local gigs. The one night stand turns strange, however, when the handsome one-night-stand admits to being a vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starlight on my Lover's Hair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/gifts).



> Written as a gift for the lovely Moonix! 
> 
> Note: no porn in this, though it gets close enough to use your imagination in places, and no serious angst. This is actually pretty fluffy in content, and explores some of my ideas about how the supernatural world might work.

**1.**

_Ivory_

It was a dark and stormy night, which made it all the more hilarious when Royston stormed out, intent on leaving the group for good this time and walking home. It might have been alarming, if it wasn’t such a regular occurrence.

Rain had hit the roof of the truck in waves as they drove to Tuesdays, which was barely more than a dive bar but employed them to play regularly enough that they were actually starting to get a following. Overcast and rainy days always put Ivory in more of a mood to play something with depth than his usual performance-friendly melodies. He’d suggested, during their warmups, that they should give Caius a red and sparkling dress for the night, instead of his usual flowy sundress, and let him drape himself on top of the piano. In retrospect, this suggestion may have started the night off poorly re: Royston’s tantrum. Ivory couldn’t quite bring himself to care. All he really gave a damn about anyway was the money that came from the gigs.

Three Maidens styled themselves a steampunk band, though Ivory thought the actual sound was a little too hippy-folksy for steampunk. The keyboard he played was just a regular keyboard hidden in a table that made it look like a mad scientist designed a church organ, which was probably cool in dim lighting but always vaguely disappointed him when he set up and saw the cardboard fraying at the sides where the plastic casing of the keyboard was a little too big for its nest. Royston’s guitar had cogs hot-glued to it. Merritt’s drum set looked alright, all silver and gold with red trim and designs that made it look a bit like a dragon, if you squinted, but on stage in cramped quarters it stank like cheap spray paint and gave everyone headaches. If Ivory could redesign the band he was in, he’d give them props that were better quality than this cheap Halloween-store bullshit and probably throw in some talent with it. Gods knew some of them could use it.

The only bright side to tonight’s fiasco was that his stalker was back. Three Maidens had a regular fan, a curly disaster who’d shown up for their last six gigs and spent his time staring at Ivory like a lost puppy. He was creepy, of course, in his own special way, but ticket purchases meant Ivory got paid and if the guy bought merchandise and didn’t get drunk and try to crawl on stage, Ivory was happy to play for the guy. He’d even started putting more effort into the songs, little deviations and flourishes as if curly would notice the slight differences. He was there tonight, looking like a fucking theater extra who’d escaped the stages of the Amazement district, nursing a beer in the back of the venue. Ivory had stopped caring about him, though, at the end of the set, when Royston’s little tantrum began and the fires started.

What had brought them all together in the first place, aside from the six degrees of separation bullshit that Evariste, psychology student wannabe, spouted without really knowing what he was talking about, was the tendency to start fires. That had actually been a suggested band name- The Tendency to Start Fires- when they’d first formed, but Royston diva’d about it and they’d settled on Three Maidens to appease him. Anyway, the fires weren’t always literal, at least anymore now that Merritt kept taking away Ivory’s lighters to “minimalize risk of relapse.” Royston didn’t enjoy fire so much as had the knack for ruining electrical equipment and causing minor electrical explosions. Ivory was convinced he secretly mistreated the equipment, and that’s why there were so many wire shorts when he was around, but he had yet to actually catch Royston in the act. Caius was simpler still; he enjoyed chaos in any form it chose to take.

After the set, Ivory took his time cleaning up his equipment without much help from his bandmates. Caius was off flirting with the bartender, Al. Merritt was having one of his sexually tense arguments with Evariste instead of packing away his drums and of course Royston was more dramatic than anyone in a low-rent garage band had a right to be, so by the time Ivory wrapped up all the instruments and what he ungraciously thought of as the instruments’ costumes and slung them into Ev’s van, it was well past the end of the show and he wasn’t expecting anyone from the crowd to still be there, especially since Roy wasn’t out selling copies of their two mediocre albums.

Curly was still sitting at the bar, staring into his glass of beer without much of an expression. He looked up when Ivory came out from the back, and his face lit up like he’d been waiting. Ivory almost turned around and escaped out the back on principal, but he forced himself to walk over to the bar instead, because interaction with fans was supposed to be important. On the way over, he crossed his arms, unable to help himself from this small display of discomfort. Friendliness had never come easily to him and he didn’t want this guy to think that attendance at a few gigs meant he was owed some kind of personal interaction. “Did you enjoy the show?” Ivory’s tone was more sarcastic than he’d actually meant it to be.

Curly smiled, looking down like he was fucking modest, or something. “I’m sorry about your singer,” he offered, and his voice was unexpected. It wasn’t anything special, really, or at least there was nothing unusual about it that Ivory could pinpoint, so there was no logical reason for him to like the sound of it as much as he did. Sometimes voices were like that, though; they made something in him sit up and take notice. Up close, the stranger’s eyes were warm brown.

Oh. Damn.

“He’ll be back,” Ivory shrugged and sat down. There was still time for this guy to prove himself a creep. There was no reason to believe he wouldn’t, no matter how attractive he may be. “He pulls this every few weeks. Usually comes back right on time for the next gig.” He tried to make eye contact with the bartender, but had no luck; Caius’ wiles were just too strong.

Curly was still smiling at him, and shit, it was a pretty nice smile, with crinkles at the corners of his eyes to reveal that he wasn’t some fresh-faced student and a crease at the edge of his mouth that gave his face character. A flash of very white teeth made Ivory’s mouth go dry.

“I suspect you might be better off without him. You’ve got more talent than everyone else put together.” A sudden flush accompanied the words, and he looked down again for half a second, then back up, their eyes meeting. “I’m Raphael.”

“Yves,” Ivory said softly. “But I prefer to go by Ivory.”

Curly- _Raphael_ \- smiled again and Ivory wanted to hate him for it. “Hello Ivory,” he murmured, shaping his lips around Ivory’s name in an almost worshipful way.

Ivory gave in to the inevitable. “Hello, Raphael.”

~~~

They braved the storm under Raphael’s umbrella, curly having made a sad unintelligible noise when he found out Ivory didn’t drive and insisted on walking him home. As they walked, Raphael talked about a book he was reading and Ivory listened politely. When they got to his house, he realized he didn’t want to stop listening to Raphael talk. He pretended to himself that it was because he was interested in the book.

“Would you like to come up for coffee?”

Raphael’s expression got strange for a moment, like he was trying not to laugh. He leaned in close. “I never drink…. Coffee,” he whispered, his eyes sparkling. Ivory just stared at him for a moment with an eyebrow raised. It had to be a reference from something, the way it tickled his memory, but he couldn’t quite place it. Instead, he just turned and walked up the stairs to his front door. If Raphael followed, then he followed; there wouldn’t be a second invitation.

He got the door unlocked and hung his jacket, and when he looked at the open door, Raphael was leaning on the doorframe just outside. His ridiculous poet shirt was clinging to his chest and rain had made it just a little bit sheer. Ivory sternly told himself to keep breathing normally.

“Are you going to invite me in?” Raphael asked with a slight smile.

Ivory smiled back. “That depends,” he tried to make his voice into a purr, though he may have only succeeded in sounding like he had a cold. “What are your intentions?”

Raphael took his time in answering, shifting his weight and considering Ivory with an intense gaze. “I think,” he began, not an ounce of hurry in his voice, “I’d begin by stripping those wet clothes off you and seeing just what’s underneath all those layers.” _Holy sweet fuck_ , Ivory thought, not daring to move. “Then I intend to get you to bed and spend my time finding how to make you say my name. I’m not going to fuck you. Not tonight.” Raphael’s eyes dropped down, slowly this time, then dragged back up his body until their eyes met again. “But if you invite me in, I promise to make you come tonight.”

Ivory had to spend a few seconds remembering how to make words after that, but some niggling remnant of caution niggled in the back of his mind even after that pornographic statement. “And if I don’t invite you in?” He asked, returning the slow once-over. Raphael bit his lower lip, hips moving just a smidge. Interesting.

“Then I’ll go,” He whispered, the corner of his lips curling, and Ivory’s toes curled with them. “I don’t really want to, but if this isn’t what you invited me up here for, then I’ll back off.” His lips, Ivory thought, were fucking distracting and Ivory wanted them occupied elsewhere, pronto. He sauntered over to the door and hooked a finger into Raphael’s belt, giving it a sharp tug.

 “Come in,” he whispered.

~~~

Thunder startled Ivory out of his doze. The presence of a warm body in his bed made him jump upright, scuttling backwards on his knees until his back hit the wall, heart pounding.

“Hey,” Raphael whispered, leaning up. “That was some thunder, yeah?” He stayed there, still and calm, as if it was entirely normal to jump out of bed ready to throw down. Ivory waited for his breathing to slow down before cautiously sitting back down, taking stock of his surroundings- his own apartment, a fresh set of sheets, a near-stranger in his bed. An extremely attractive, possibly stalkery near-stranger.

How was this possibly how his life was going?

“Hey, so,” Raphael whispered with a smile in the corner of his lips, “I don’t want to run out on you.” His fingers found Ivory’s knee in the sheets, a warm and soft touch, really the barest contact to ease his words into a regretful necessity. “But I really need to get going before sunrise.”

Ivory barely caught his laugh in time. “Sunrise? Really? What, are you a vampire?” He smirked, the joke rolling off his tongue. Raphael looked away, grimacing.

There could have been an easy moment there. Perhaps Raphael worked mornings. Maybe he had an appointment somewhere. The silence stretched on for a long moment, turning things awkward and surreal. That moment let Ivory remember that his gigs were always at night, and the way Raphael had waited to be invited in. The tiny, uncomfortable shift in Raphael’s shoulders was not, in any way, him waving the patently ridiculous notion away.

Raphael broke the silence with a voice that sounded like he was forcing it to be calm. “Yeah, actually.”

 _Oh sweet Saint Regina_ , Ivory thought, anxiety spiking in his gut. _Why couldn’t I have realized he was mad before I showed him where I live?_

“Okay,” Ivory said, cautiously. Humor him. Get him out. Buy a deadbolt and refuse to ever make eye contact again. It was strange, though; Ivory had spent some time at goth clubs, when he was younger. Between goth culture and musician culture, he’d met plenty of wannabe vampires, but they usually wore black clothes and crosses and bragged about their delusions as a way to impress. Raphael wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

Maybe it was worse if Raphael really believed it. Then again, he’d had Ivory completely vulnerable for the better part of the night, and here they both were, the better for it. “You think you’re a vampire?” Ivory asked slowly.

Raphael was looking at him from across the bed, shoulders tense. “I’m not delusional,” he whispered. Ivory couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow and Raphael huffed, standing and grabbing his clothes. He was dressing. He was dressing in a snit.

Again, how was this Ivory’s actual life?

Ivory tugged the top sheet from its moorings and wrapped it around himself, getting up. “So you’re a vampire.” He was repeating himself, but considering the subject matter it was understandable. The man thought he was a fucking fictional creature.

Raphael huffed again and rolled his eyes. “I drink blood- from the blood bank, not from people. You can’t see me in mirrors. I burn up in the sun. I’m not a fucking werewolf, am I?” He got up, looking for his shirt. Ivory thought it might have fallen behind the sofa, but said nothing as he trailed him to the front room, still wrapped up in the top sheet from the bed like a badly-wrapped toga.

Raphael walked in a tight circle, then stopped and buried his face in his hands for a second, thumbs pressing against his eyes before lowering his hands to his cheeks and looking at Ivory like he was pleading.

“Sun’s coming up,” Ivory said softly.

Raphael’s eyes tightened, but when he looked out the window the fight went out of him. He tugged on his jacket and grabbed his umbrella, casting only one last glance at Ivory before taking off.

~~~

Sure enough, Royston was back three days later, apologizing for his outburst. Hal stood behind him, arms crossed over his chest but his eyes soft and fond for his husband.

Ivory was quiet, but nobody seemed to notice. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything about what had happened. How do you tell your bandmates that you’d rolled in the sheets with someone who thought he was a vampire? How to impress on them the seriousness of the situation and still avoid them teasing him about becoming the protagonist of some cheap, badly-written horror novel? Best avoid it altogether, really, because once any of them caught wind of an even vaguely embarrassing secret, they’d wear it out until it wasn’t even embarrassing anymore, just annoying. Besides, even without the vampire nonsense, he didn’t want to be known as the one who brought their only groupie home for a one-night stand.

The hardware store provided a new deadbolt and chain guard for his door. Ivory installed them himself, with help from internet tutorials, but he’d still barely been able to sleep at night, staring out the window with a wooden cross on the bedside table and a hand on the fading hickey on his neck, unsure if he wanted it to disappear or not.

He was ridiculous, and he hated life, just a little.

 

**2.**

_Raphael_

“Whyyyyyy are you so mopey?”

Luvander draped himself over the back of Raphael’s couch, taking his book and flinging it across the room with the usual drama. It hit the wall with a dull thud, and Raphael sighed.

“Hello, darling,” he smiled with the lower half of his face.

“Don’t call me darling unless you mean it,” Luvander pouted. He looked good today; floral skinny jeans and a ridiculous silk tank top that looked like it would rip if it were breathed on too aggressively. A paisley scarf only accentuated his slender neck and the swell of his clavicle and the fading bruises there. Then again, maybe that was the point; Raphael preferred to go out of his way to avoid Luvander’s love life, and in return, Luvander went out of his way to rub it in Raphael’s face as often as possible.

Raphael frowned slightly. “Is that my scarf?”

“You need a hobby,” Luvander slid down until he was wedged between Raphael and the couch cushions. Raphael tried not to fall off. “I have a hobby.”

“Being sad is not a hobby!” Luvander frowned, leaning up.

“He’s right,” Niall called from the kitchen. “It’s depressing as shit.”

“Your concern is noted,” Raphael called back, grinning despite himself. He pressed his forehead to Luvander’s, nose to nose, and sighed.

“Are you sad because your pretty little musician dumped you,” Luvander ran his hand under Raphael’s shirt, boundaries not being much of a thing for him when it came to housemates. “Do you want us to ruin his life?”

“I want you to give my scarf back,” Raphael smiled. “And no. Leave him alone.”

“Are you suuuuuure you don’t want us to, I don’t know, slash his tires?”

“He doesn’t have a car!”

“I could have Ghislain have a talk with him,” Niall offered, drying his hands with a towel. “Wait, you’re cuddling and didn’t invite me?”

“No- Niall, no, don’t-“ Raphael laughed helplessly as Niall climbed on top of them on the couch. It was barely large enough for him, let alone his two housemates, and they were all going to end up on the floor once physics decided it was done letting them violate it.

When Raphael caught his breath again, he was tangled between them on the carpet with the two holding hands on his hip.

“Please don’t harass him,” he smiled. “Not until he actually does something to deserve it.” Luvander frowned, but Niall just snuggled closer.

“I get it,” he murmured, taking a moment to spit out some of Raphael’s hair. “You want to fight your own battles. Just don’t forget you have backup, okay?”

“How could I?” Raphael smiled at Luvander, meaning it this time, and Luvander rolled his eyes and flopped backwards, with exaggerated drama, backwards to stare at the ceiling. One could almost see the cartoonish lily on his chest.

Cuddle time was replaced with movie time, and Niall’s spaghetti, and of course more cuddles until it was time for Niall to get ready for work. Raphael wondered if he’d ever get the chance to tell Ivory that vampires ate real food. The television mythos was almost completely wrong, about everything.

“Are you sure,” Luvander asked again, fingers running through Raphael’s hair as they participated in even more self-indulgent cuddling, which Niall had pouted about but had gone to work in spite of. “I can go scope him out, give him a little scare. I’d do it for you.” He would, Raphael knew, even though such demonstrations were, in Luvander’s opinion, the worst sort of distasteful.

“I’m seeing him play tonight,” Raphael admitted. “He didn’t exactly freak out. I just.. I think he thinks I’m delusional.” Luvander snorted.

“What, because you don’t smell like grave dirt and bare your fangs at every cross.” If Luvander sounded bitter, Raphael couldn’t hold it against him. He’d had a rougher time than most. He stayed silent, turning after a moment to press his forehead against Luvander’s fingers.

“Don’t get hurt,” Luvander whispered.

~~~

Three Maidens was playing at a little club across town, so Raphael got a ride from Luvander on his way to work.

“Call me if you need help,” Luvander made him promise, fierceness shining through. “Esther will understand.” The positions available for nighttime work were not glamorous; Niall worked security, and Luvander helped one of their vampire friends run her online  haberdashery. Okay, so maybe it could be a little glamorous.

“I’ll call.” Raphael kissed the top of Luvander’s head and slid out of the car. “Give Esther my love.”

He was late, or maybe the website had gotten the times wrong; Three Maidens was already playing when Raphael walked in. He bought a ticket anyway, and a beer, and settled himself into a table in the corner.

He almost dropped his beer when he realized what Ivory was wearing.

~~~

_Ivory_

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Evariste wasn’t even trying not to laugh, giving Ivory a once over. “You look like a fucking romance novel cover. Fabio.”

“You look like you licked your finger and stuck it in a socket,” Ivory calmly retorted.

“What, are we going all French Revolution?” Merritt asked, setting his drums onto their stands and hiding his smile as he pretended not to watch Ev uselessly try to smooth down his notoriously untamable hair.

“It’s just a shirt,” Ivory sighed, setting up his keyboard.

~~~

_Raphael_

Ivory was wearing his shirt. Raphael was glad he was sitting down, because the sudden rush of lust made his knees weak.

He held his table until the band was done and most of the patrons had finished socializing and filtered out. The singer came out to meet and greet the audience, charming his way into their pockets with a handsome smile. Beside him was the pale dancer, who Raphael thought must be on something pretty wild, and he must have been saying some outrageous things to the audience to make their smiles turn uncertain. Behind them stood a younger man with black hair, more freckle than person, selling homemade Three Maiden CDs with a painfully earnest smile. Raphael didn’t recognize him, but he had his suspicions based on the smitten way he looked at the singer.

Eventually the room was almost clear, and Raphael ducked over to the bar for one last drink before they closed down. He sat and waited, thinking that maybe Ivory hadn’t seen him. Or, worse, Ivory had seen him, and was avoiding him. His anxiety didn’t go away when Ivory appeared; it only changed its shape. Ivory was in a well-worn leather jacket, the shirt slightly too big underneath it and standing out brightly under the dim lights.

“We really can’t keep meeting like this,” Ivory said lightly once he reached the bar. There were shadows under his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping well.

“I don’t know,” Raphael shifted in his seat. “I kind of like listening to you play. But if you want me to stop coming to your shows, I will.”

Ivory considered him for a long moment. “I’m hungry,” he finally replied. “Let’s go find a diner or something.”

Raphael’s anxiety was still twisting his stomach into knots, but he agreed anyway and walked out into the cool, thankfully clear night with Ivory. He made sure to update Luvander, too, about the change in his location.

“Texting someone?” Ivory had a slight frown, and oh god, he probably thought Raphael was incredibly rude.

“My housemate,” Raphael tucked the phone into his back pocket and winced when it vibrated again almost instantly. “He gave me a lift out here. If he comes looking for me and I’m not around, he’ll probably call the police. Or, worse, call our neighbor.”

“Is he a vampire too?” Ivory was noncommittal. Maybe that was a good sign.

“My neighbor? No, but I think he might be a witch.”

“Your housemate,” Ivory looked at Raphael incredulously. “Wouldn’t a male witch be a warlock?”

“Don’t be sexist,” Raphael grinned. “Yeah. Luvander and his boyfriend Niall and I are all, you know.” He shrugged. The word vampire was so fucking pretentious, he choked on it every time.

“Vampires.” Ivory rubbed his temple.

“Housemates. Maybe we should get some food in you,” Raphael sighed, walking a little faster.

Ivory walked in silence for almost a full minute. “I don’t think they serve blood at diners.”

Raphael grinned again. “No big deal. I’ll just get a veggie burger.” Ivory gave him another strange look, which Raphael ignored. This was going to be fun.

~~~

_Ivory_

The diner was lit a little too bright for Ivory’s tastes, and Raphael seemed to be sensitive to that, or maybe he just noticed Ivory squinting because he found them a booth that was slightly dimmer than the rest. As they waited for their coffee, Ivory kicked the back of his heels against the seat, considering Raphael.

“So you eat burgers,” he began cautiously. Hunger and a headache were making him grumpy, but curiosity won out.

“Mm, I really like soy burgers with barbeque sauce,” he grinned.

“And you also drink blood.”

“About eight ounces a day, or more when I’m sick. I don’t eat as much as humans either, but I need both.” Raphael gave him an apologetic look, then checked his phone again, sending off a quick text. There was a crease between his eyebrows that was very distracting. “Sorry.”

Ivory waved it off. “Where do you get it from?”

“The burgers, mostly from the market.” Ivory scowled hard, and Raphael just smirked. “Oh, you mean the blood. We know a guy at the blood bank. He’s kind of an ass.”

“Huh.” Ivory thought this over quietly as a waitress came over to pour them coffee and take their orders. The smell of it almost made Ivory nauseous, and he pushed the cup away from him once she left.

“Don’t drink coffee?” Raphael asked, dumping sugar into his.

Ivory shook his head, then remembered to use his words. “No caffeine.” He wondered if this was a migraine onset, or if he was just hungry. Either way, he’d better eat something fast; if it was a migraine, he’d need as much nutrition as he could before the pain made him throw up. “Do you live in a graveyard?”

“Nah, the wifi in crypts is shit.” Raphael was trying not to grin, but the sides of his mouth kept creeping up like the questions were silly. “I knew Niall in college. We split rent on a townhouse.”

“I thought your housemate’s name was something else…”

“Luvander. He’s dating Niall, and we all live together.”

“And your neighbor is a male witch.”

I don’t actually know,” Raphael looked pensive. “Either that or he and Maggie are some kind of mad scientists. They get our packages during the day and are really freakishly good at predicting the weather.” He grinned when their food was set down, thanking the waitress with a charming smile and apologetically pushing Ivory’s coffee cup back into her hands. He was so sweet about it, Ivory wanted to smile, but his mouth was full of food, and there was a danger of it coming back up so he settled on focusing very hard on digesting instead.

“How’d you join a band?” Raphael asked, then tore into his burger- not like a vampire, but like a very hungry human. He didn’t seem to be impatient for answers, so Ivory took his time.

“I needed the money. Caius is my cousin.”

“Caius.. the drummer?”

Ivory shook his head. “Barefoot. Tambourine. Dress. He kind of does his own thing. Do you sleep in a coffin?”

Raphael looked at him in sheer disbelief. “Do YOU?”

Ivory choked back a laugh. Two years ago, he might have; the goth crowd was pretty intense sometimes. And Caius was, well, Caius. “No, but I know some people who do.” Or might, anyway. He’d stopped spending much time at clubs when he’d started playing in them, which meant losing touch with certain social circles and their strange ways. He did not particularly mind.

“Who do…” Raphael stared at him, his turn to be incredulous. “Sleep. In coffins.”

“Do you eat meat?” Ivory kept his tone light. This was getting a bit more fun.

“No, it’s gross. You know people who sleep in coffins?”

“Yep. I run with a weird crowd. Is that a personal choice or a vampire thing?”

“Personal. How weird is this crowd? Because I don’t know anyone who sleeps in coffins and I’m a fucking vampire.”

“It’s kind of a goth thing-“ Ivory jerked back when a “ha!” kind of just exploded out of Raphael.

“Oh my god, you’re goth. I’m dating a goth.” The cheer faded abruptly, and Raphael rested his chin on his hand, his nose crinkling in an almost-smile. “Well, maybe. I’d like this to be a date. It’s the best date I’ve had in a long time.”

Ivory took another bite, thinking it over. “Tell me more.” He glanced up at Raphael. “About the vampire thing.” He still wasn’t convinced Raphael was telling the truth, but apparently he had friends who either fed the delusion or were about to change Ivory’s world forever.

Raphael filled him in. Vampires were alive, not undead, and aged at a slower rate than most humans. They lived off both blood and food. They were stronger than humans. Direct sunlight burnt them, not into ash but similar to a bad sunburn, or even blisters if they got caught for too long. Bright moonlight and indirect sunlight, like on a very cloudy day, could also burn them. Certain foods did cause them distress.

“The myth about garlic came about because it’s a blood thinner,” Raphael said, pushing around the last bite on his plate. “It’s oranges that kill. Not literally. The leading theory is that we’re overly sensitive to vitamin D.”

“This is the strangest fucking thing that’s ever happened to me,” Ivory mused. “And I’m in a band with Caius Greylace.”

Raphael smiled. “You get used to it.” When Ivory raised a slow eyebrow, his grin widened. “Not Caius.” They both choked back the kind of giggle that only happens at a certain part of a long conversation, at 4am. This was the building of an inside joke. This was the foundation of something good.

~~~

_Raphael_

In retrospect, asking for a ride from literally anyone other than Luvander may have been a better idea.

They waited outside, sitting close together, Raphael chatting about books while Ivory rested on his shoulder. It was tender, sweet, and doomed. Luvander rolled up in his ancient Volvo wearing his “fuck you” sunglasses even though it was ridiculously dark still, yanked up the parking brake and got out of the car instead of just waiting. He sauntered over in front of them, pulling down his ridiculous shades with two fingers and looking them both over with the most judgmental damn expression Raphael had ever seen on him.

Ivory sat slowly upright, muscles tensing for a fight or flight. Raphael took his hand and squeezed gently. “Hello, Luvander,” He greeted softly.

“Up,” Luvander ordered with an imperious tone. “Let me get a look at him.”

Ivory’s fear seemed to settle into nerves, and maybe a little anger, so Raphael squeezed his hand again and smiled reassuringly. “Don’t mind Luvander,” he murmured. “He’s like this with everyone at first.”

Ivory sighed and stood, and Luvander snorted, a little more sarcasm in his voice than strictly necessary. “At first?”

“Be nice,” Raphael chided, keeping hold on Ivory’s hand.

“No.” Luvander prowled around them, looking at Ivory from all angles. “It’s not _my_ fault you didn’t tell him what to expect.” He lingered behind them and Raphael sighed. “Although I can’t fault your taste…”

“Luvander works in fashion,” Raphael began, biting back a grin. “He can be the cattiest bitch you’ve ever met, but he _is_ a good friend.” He gave Luvander a pointed look. “Which means he’s done looking at your ass.” Luvander’s eyebrows raised and he sauntered back around, smiling like the cat who’d gotten the canary _and_ the cream.

Ivory remained unimpressed. “Can we go now?”

Raphael gave Luvander a meaningful look, and Luvander nodded. Granted, the nod had all the usual drama- a little eye roll, his arms crossed against his chest, a little pout, but when all was said and done it was a nod and Raphael had learned to take victories where he could find them. He opened the door to the back seat with a little flourish and a stupid grin, climbing in next to Ivory.

The tentative peace lasted approximately 30 seconds into the drive before the second battle began. “So, Luvander,” Ivory began with a tone of voice Raphael was beginning to recognize as dangerous, “Do you always wear sunglasses at night?”

“Of course I do,” Luvander replied blithely. “I look positively dashing in them.”

“The moon’s bright,” Raphael murmured into Ivory’s ear. “I told you, it can burn us.”

“Right,” Ivory replied, “Because you’re vampires.” A tense silence followed, each seemingly waiting for someone else to have the first reaction. Finally, Luvander smiled, his lips tense and bloodless.

“Yes,” he said simply. “But mostly because I look fabulous in them.” They rode the rest of the way without speaking except for Raphael offering soft directions, and when the car stopped he slipped out with Ivory, leaning back in to touch Luvander’s shoulder, asking for patience for just another moment.

“This was fun,” Luvander called out to Ivory as they walked to his door. “Let’s never do it again.”

Ivory gave Luvander a blank, entirely spooky glare, then turned away and ignored him entirely. Raphael had to run to keep up with him.

“Wait.. please?” Ivory didn’t quite turn to look at him, he only spared a half-glance from over his shoulder, the light catching his pale lashes. Raphael swallowed and carefully reconsidered his words. Whatever he’d been about to say was lost in the erotic rush of lust he got from the tiniest things about Ivory at the worst possible moments. “Can I see your phone?” He breathed out, coming up closer but not yet daring to touch.

“Why?” The suspicion in Ivory’s voice was palpable and entirely warranted. Raphael ran his hand through his own hair, flustered.

“Okay, that.. Just. Please. Take out your phone and go to your contacts.”

There was a long pause before Ivory reacted, and Raphael nearly lost his nerve. He knew how to do romance, at least in theory, but nobody he’d ever been with this intimately had ever been less receptive to it. Ivory was a study in contradictions. Raphael held his ground and it paid off when Ivory reluctantly pulled his phone from his pocket. They crowded, shoulder to shoulder, and Raphael made it a point to be gentle and slow when he took the phone from Ivory’s hands and kept the screen angled so that Ivory could watch him program in his name and number, that he wasn’t invading Ivory’s privacy.

“There. You can text me anytime, if you want, or call.” He met Ivory’s eyes, handing it back. “If you do, I’ll save your number.” A hesitant nod. “I’d really like to see you again.” A slow blink. Was that good? It was good with cats, but was it good with Ivory?

Ivory reached over and took hold of Raphael’s coat, looking up at him, tilting his face- oh. Yes, that was probably good, then. They kissed slowly, Raphael’s hands coming up to rest on Ivory’s waist, and no matter how long it had been, when they broke apart it was too soon.

“Goodnight,” was all Ivory said before closing the door between them.

 

**3.**

_Raphael_

There was a concert scheduled three nights later. When Raphael arrived at the club, however, the band playing was not Three Maidens. When asked about it, the bartender shrugged; Three Maidens had canceled last-minute, and the venue was forced to find another band. No, he didn’t have any further information. No, he didn’t have the band’s number. If Raphael wanted to contact them, there should be information online.

Raphael spent a shitty night pacing in and out of the club, hoping to catch a sight of a vaguely-familiar face. He bought too many drinks, shooting them down quickly so he could walk back outside and look for Three Maiden’s Band Van. He didn’t even know what it looked like. The band playing was a shitty cover band that wasn’t quite polished enough for stage. Raphael bought more drinks just to get through their playing. When they finally, mercifully, stopped playing and the crowd finally began to filter outside to have a last smoke and head home, Raphael stayed at the bar and waited.

And he waited.

The bar closed. The bartender was not sympathetic.

Raphael found himself outside, alone in the world well after the witching hour, blinking neon lights somehow accentuating his alone-ness. On the bright side, he wasn’t too far from where Ivory lived.

Raphael began to walk.

This was not a major city, where bus lines ran all night. Raphael could, and had, walked from one end of town to the other and back within a night. Those were the nights when his head was so full of words that he couldn’t begin anything new and couldn’t stay still either, when he couldn’t settle down to anything. Those were the nights when he barely made it back before dawn, dusty and sweaty from hurrying home before the light got strong enough to hurt him. This was not one of those nights, but he knew the city well enough now and he remembered where Ivory lived. His boots crunched on the sidewalk, too loud in the still darkness. They vibrated the narrow concrete stairs on the stairwell that led to Ivory’s second-story door. His fist on the door shattered the silence in a way that approached violence.

Raphael realized too late that he might still be drunk, and this was not a good way to approach someone he wanted to be his boyfriend.

He knocked again, quieter this time, more meek, wanting Ivory to wake up and get the door so he could apologize for the noise. There was no response, but there was a noise from Ivory’s next door neighbor, someone moving within their apartment that would probably mirror the layout. Desperately, Raphael knocked again.

“Ivory, please.”

The sheer patheticness of his situation sank in and Raphael sat next to Ivory’s door, pulling his knees up to his chest with tears streaming down his cheeks. He cried helplessly, certain that he was never going to see Ivory again. He was still crying when Ivory’s neighbor came out and stared at him, a wooden-handled broom in her hand.

What struck Ivory first was how strikingly beautiful she was, with high cheekbones and a full mouth, dark and light playing on her skin like light through a tree in summer. She looked like a queen disturbed from sleep, not a single hair out of place or pillow crease on her face. The second thing that struck him was that she was holding the broom aggressively and coming towards him.

Oh, _shit_.

He threw his hands up to protect his head and made himself small, not out of cowardice as much as genuine alarm because this woman looked hell bent on hurting him and, well, wood was not so great for vampires in the media. When no blows rained down on him, he peeked up through his arms. She was standing over him, the broom still held like a weapon, and her eyes were narrowed. Her lips- painted, he noticed, and what he’d thought was a trick of the moonlight was actually patterns of vitiligo on her skin, and this was so not the time to be noticing how pretty she was but he couldn’t help it- were curled in disgust.

“You need to leave,” she ordered.

He had to blink back another wave of tears. “I just want to see him,” Raphael whimpered.

“Too bad. I’m calling the police.”

“No,” he whispered at her retreating form. “No, please.. I.. I’m going.” She stopped, but didn’t turn around to face him. “He canceled his show,” Raphael explained, still sitting on the floor. “I was supposed to meet him there, but he hasn’t called…”

She did, finally, turn and cross her arms, looking down at him. “So you decided to make a ruckus at four in the morning? Go home, you imbecile. If he wants you here, he’ll damn well call you.” Raphael cringed; the words, though not unduly harsh, they were delivered with the force of an air strike missile. “If I catch you out here again, we won’t even need to get the police involved. I’ll deal with you myself.”

He gulped, and believed it. She was more dragon than person. He used the wall to help himself climb up and managed to walk away without stumbling, though it was extra difficult with her overseeing the process.

Once Raphael made it to the street, he sat back down on the curb and pulled out his phone. To his complete lack of surprise, there were several missed calls from Luvander and two from Niall. Navigating the tiny keyboard seemed like too difficult a feat, so he dialed Niall and flopped backwards onto the concrete as it rang.

The ride home was fucking miserable, and he barely remembered it. He almost wished he hadn’t made it back before sunrise.

~~~

Niall was one of the first vampires Raphael met outside of his own extended family. They’d started college at the same time and were taking several of the same classes, mostly because there were few classes available at night. Within a week, they’d traded roommates to live with each other, and Raphael had been stuck with Niall ever since. He didn’t mind. Niall rebelled against their dark and often depressing world with unflagging good cheer, claiming that happiness was punk rock as hell. He refrained from judging Raphael for his bibliophilia or vegetarianism despite sharing neither trait. Raphael looked at Niall like he hung the moon for years. He still did, sometimes, even though Niall was obnoxiously social and too competitive by far. It was what made him perfect for Luvander, even when they’d first met and Luvander hated everything, all the time, especially himself.

The following day was filled with embarrassment, hung over apologies, and Niall’s extra-special cheer-up waffles, with blueberries making a smiley face baked right into the bread and whipped cream hair. This was a time-honored tradition and it never, ever failed. Armed with that knowledge, Niall waited until Raphael was smiling and full before sending Luvander in armed with clothes and a hairbrush to get him ready to go out, whether he wanted to leave the house or not. It was probably very funny to everyone who wasn’t Raphael.

Dressed, groomed and fed, Raphael was nearly carried to the car before he realized that it was Pickup Night. His attempts to escape were futile, Luvander grabbing his flailing arms and Niall picking up his legs. Raphael tried to reason with them, to no avail; they felt strongly that he needed to leave the house, so they were bringing him along. He finally gave in, slumping in defeat, when he realized Niall had activated the child safety locks on the back doors of his car.

“I hate you both,” he pouted.

“No darling,” Luvander murmured, buckling himself in, “You hate Rook.”

Raphael sighed in agreement and spent the drive staring out the window, letting himself fall back into the doldrums as the scenery passed by the window in a blur.

A good way into the drive, Niall adjusted the rearview mirror to look at him. “Not still upset about being dragged out of the house?”

“No,” Raphael frowned. “I just. I kind of made an ass out of myself last night and I think I ruined everything.” A slow blink, to keep the tears away. Now was not a time for tears. “I was sure he was into me, but he hasn’t called me at all, the band canceled their show last night and I just. I wonder if he thinks I’m stalking him.” He frowned harder, unable to stop the tears anymore and turning his face towards the glass so that Niall wouldn’t see them. Neither boy responded to him, only sharing worried glances with each other. Raphael focused on breathing to calm himself down until they pulled into the familiar business neighborhood. Once parked, Niall walked around the car and opened the back door, pulling Raphael out and taking his face in both hands. They stared at each other for a long moment, Raphael with miserable confusion and Niall with patience, until Niall sighed softly.

“He liked you, Raphael. He did. If the band is broken up and he isn’t responding to your messages, maybe something else is going on that has nothing to do with you. Give it a few more days. If he brushes you off after this, he was never worth your time.” Raphael’s eyes stung and his lower lip dimpled, the way it did when he was about to cry and was resisting. He leaned forward until his forehead and nose were pressed against Niall’s and breathed deeply until he was calm enough to face the world again. Niall let him, rubbing Raphael’s arms with all the patience and stability nobody expected such a gregarious boy to have until they got to know him.

The moment he pulled away, Luvander was draping his long arms around Raphael’s shoulders, employing his endless skill for distraction. “Cheer up, darling. If he does turn out to be a dud, I’ll hook you up with Ghislain.”

“Ghislain is married,” Raphael pointed out, but it fell on deaf ears as his friends suggested even more improbable matches for him; a threesome with Ghislain and Magoughin, which Raphael waved away with a tremendous blush; a night out with Dani, though Niall laughed and regretfully told them she was seeing someone; a candlelit dinner with Jeannot (Luvander got very flustered, as he always did then the J-name was mentioned); a carnival night with Compagnon, as if the joker would ever leave the company of his bros for long enough to have a proper date. The list got less probable as it went on. Amery (the date would be very proper, but if the long line of girls waiting for a date didn’t kill him for cutting in line, Rook would). Donna (who was the lucky one Dani was now seeing, though she’d always been exclusively into girls). Chastity, who would give him a good time but never kept much interest past the first night. Ace, who would either drag him through some wild adventure or sleep through their date. By the time they reached the blood bank, Raphael’s smile had broken through again and he was trying to rub the red from his face, but his good cheer was not destined to last. Guarding the door was a younger man with long, blue-streaked blond braids and a too-pretty face marred by an ugly sneer. The devil, Raphael thought, was always beautiful.

“There you are, ya glorified fuckin’ mosquitos.” The smug look on his face suggested he’d been working on that particular gem for a while.

“What’s up, you punk little asshole!” Niall bared his fangs in a grin and strode ahead, pinning Rook down with an arm around his shoulders, grinding his fist into Rook’s hair to mess it up. “You gorgeous fucking bastard, you look good enough to eat.” Raphael watched the display with a dry and academic fascination, enthralled as always by the heteronormative rituals of straight boys (or, in Niall’s case, aggressively cheerful bisexual boys who’d been raised in a heteronormative military family and was thus accustomed to the strange habits of homophobic men). Luvander simply sighed and scrolled through his phone.

Niall had a particular talent for making friends with almost anyone, no matter how sour their temper. Rook was no exception. Oh, Rook could be charming when he wanted to be, but there was a constant undercurrent of cruelty and dissatisfaction in the way he spoke and held himself that put Raphael on edge. Nobody quite knew what Rook was. He wasn’t a vampire, that was for certain; vampires knew their own, and Rook could walk in sunlight. If he was human, though, Raphael would eat his books. Rook was the most predatory damned person he’d ever encountered; he claimed to be able to smell fear, and he was definitely as strong as Niall was.

Jeannot didn’t know what he was, either, as of the last time he’d visited. Jeannot, styling himself the werewolf ambassador to the vampires but actually a shameless scrounge with a taste for Niall’s cooking and Luvander’s flustered bravado, had an encyclopedic knowledge of every shifter within a hundred miles and several more beyond that. It helped, of course, that werewolves had packs with established territories and other types of shifters were rare enough to be known within the supernatural community by their individual names, let alone their race. Jeannot had given Rook up as a mystery case, although in fairness, that might have been because Rook was a vicious asshole to anyone he didn’t consider part of his crew, and only slightly less of a vicious asshole to those within it.

Somehow, Niall had brought Luvander and Raphael into that crew. Neither were particularly sure they wanted to be in it, but the access to blood was enough incentive to keep their mouths shut and paint on a smile once a week.

“There’s a party tonight at Amery’s.” Rook was slouched against the wall, digging dirt from beneath his nails with a massive bowie blade. Niall, filling an ice chest with labeled red medical bags, didn’t seem to notice; then again, it was unlikely the display was directed at him. “His little brother just made a.. friend.” His lips curled in a sneer. “Might be interesting.”

“Could be fun,” Niall agreed, stretching as he stood up. Rook kept his eyes on Raphael, smirking slightly.

“Think you’ll be able to make it, books? Or are you still too good to come to my boy’s parties.”

“Please,” Luvander brushed Rook off, pocketing his phone. “Every time we bring Raphael to a party he ends up in the corner with a book. Or worse, socializing, Raphael-style. He’ll end up pinning this new kid down in a bathroom talking about, what are you collecting now, Illuminated Manuscripts?”

“Why you gotta play me like that,” Raphael asked, amused. Niall clapped Rook on the back.

“We’ll make an appearance at your boy’s do. Gotta represent the community, and more to the point, gotta bring something edible. I have tasted Amery’s cooking.” And that was how, somehow, Raphael found himself dragged along to yet another werewolf party.

Rook was happy enough to ignore him when there were social alternatives, and Raphael was more than happy to be ignored. He left Niall to howl with the more aggressive wolves there- Amery, of course, and Rook’s terrifying girlfriend Mercy, whose parents Raphael deeply suspected of having more irony than sense. Luvander, he noticed, was being seductively menaced by the too-handsome Jeannot, and he cheerfully ignored Luvander’s wide-eyed help-me look. It was only a level three look, the kind that wanted Raphael to mitigate the disaster that was Luvander’s chronic foot-in-mouth syndrome simply by being more awkward than Luvander was while standing right next to him. He might have sauntered over for a level two, this guy is being a creep please give me an excuse to run away, and a full scale level one get me out of here before someone gets punched in the throat was always considered a luvandermergency, but things rarely progressed that far anymore. Besides, Esther was here as well, looking absolutely stunning as always and nobody could mess with Luvander without her tearing them to shreds with her teeth.

He met Balfour’s human friend, who looked at first sight like the worst kind of hipster until you noticed he was this close to shitting himself in terror. It got him wondering how Ivory might react to this, and how everyone here- not friends, exactly, but a kind of extended supernatural family- might react to Ivory. And then he got sad again. In the end, Raphael spent most of the night sitting outside with his head on Natalia’s lap, listening and occasionally participating in her conversation with her girlfriends, the entire patio wreathed in smoke from their thin fragrant cigars.

“Make a wish,” Natalia whispered to him, running her fingers through his hair. He must have drifted off, because when he opened his eyes they were alone.

Raphael closed his eyes again, smiling. “Why, is there a comet? Are we wishing on a star?”

“No, silly.” Her nails were lovely against his scalp, her presence familiar and comforting. “My birthday is tomorrow, and I’m giving you my wish.”

“I didn’t know birthday wishes were transferable.” The moon and stars were bright, and the night had a magical quality that was very likely a result of whatever he’d been inhaling.

“This one is, because I say so.” Her ruby red lips touched his forehead. “Although, if you wish for more books, I should remind you that _your_ birthday is next month, and you had better not buy any more books yourself until after you open all your presents.”

Giggling, Raphael righted himself and bracketed himself around her, an arm over her shoulders and his forehead on her neck. “I should be giving you everything, Nat, you don’t always need to care for me.” She did, and had ever since they were young and she had toddled up to him and decided they were best friends forever.

She smiled, lazy and satisfied. “I can’t help it. You’re just so pathetic, I want to give you the moon just to see if it finally brightens you up.”

He was saved from an emotional reaction when Luvander came from behind, long arms wrapping tight around Raphael’s neck and a sloppy drunken kiss pressed to his cheek.  “You absolutely…. Vile traitor, are you ready to go home yet, because Niall is saying his goodbyes,” Luvander buried his face in Raphael’s hair and inhaled. “You smell like home,” came a muffled whisper. Raphael shared an amused look with Natalia.

“Am I a traitor because I left you with Jeannot?” Raphael asked indulgently. “Because I’m not the one who told him about your sex dream.”

“Mmm, one of these days you’re going to have to tell me all the juicy details of that dream,” Natalia grinned like a piranha, all pointed teeth and carnivorous amusement. “Inquiring minds want to know.” Luvander shuddered with his entire body.

“I’d like very much to forget it, but it’s impossible, every time I see him he has, ugh, eyebrows.”

Raphael had to bite back a laugh as he stood, leaving Luvander draped across the back of the couch until he could walk around to pick him up. “Yes,” Natalia was agreeing, “He really does have eyebrows. It’s the nose that does it for me, though.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Luvander warned her, his tone very serious as he flopped bonelessly in Raphael’s arms, picked up in a fireman carry. “He’ll be insufferable. Only to you, instead of me. Hey, you should tell him about the nose thing.”

Natalia stifled a giggle in her hand, watching them walk away. “Raphael,” she sang out, leaning across the back of the couch. “Don’t you forget about that wish. If you do something stupid like _treasure_ it, I shall be very cross with you.” 

He shifted Luvander into an easier weight distribution, though since Luvander was basically a very tall scarecrow of a man there was no truly easy way to carry him around. “I’ve already made it,” he promised. “I’ll let you know if it comes true.”

 

**4.**

_Raphael_

Although the warmer nights were nice, Raphael’s least favorite thing about the blooming of spring into summer was how short the nights became. He was stuck inside all day, sleeping for part of it and lounging around reading for the rest. Normally, Niall would spend the afternoon in the kitchen, naked and baking, or in the living room, naked and lounging, or doing any one of a million things Niall liked to do, most of which involved being naked. Today, he and Luvander were tremendously hung over and, thankfully, had decided to keep their misery isolated to their bedroom where they could be vile to each other instead of to him.

Raphael, his own hangover gentler and making everything just sort of faded instead of making the world move like he was at sea, spent most of the day sleeping. He’d gotten a text from an unfamiliar number in the late afternoon, when he was awake but still in bed mulling over his dreams. Once he realized who the text was from, it damn near killed him not to be able to dress in a rush and head over immediately.

_Unknown Number 06:13  
Sorry, I’ve been ill. Come over. Bring food?_

_Unknown Number 06:14  
this is ivory_

_Me 06:14  
Of course I will. Are you alright? I didn’t hear from you, I was worried.._

_Ivory 06:21  
migrane_

As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon Raphael grabbed Niall’s car keys from the bowl by the door, leaving a note in their place, and risked the sunburn from the residual daylight as he raced to the market to get there before it closed. He took each aisle at a near-run, barely making sure the vegetables were ripe before chucking them in the cart and skipping ahead to the next selection. The entire errand rush was like waking up after having overslept; he was frantic, giddy and more than a little anxious. He hadn’t even gotten through Ivory’s terrifying neighbor yet.

_Ivory 06:27  
Cass has keys_

_Ivory 06:28  
Neighbor. 32b_

_Me 06:29  
Okay, I’ll be there as soon as possible._

Raphael fairly flew up the steps, not letting himself pause before rapping on the neighbor’s door because if he paused he’d lose his nerve. She was as pretty as he remembered, and every bit as intimidating. Cass frowned when she saw him.

“Didn’t I warn you about showing up here again?”

“Yes miss,” Raphael responded, making himself smaller, less of a threat. Or, for that matter, a target. “Are you Cass? Ivory asked me to bring him some food.” He was prepared, at least, the conversation displayed on the screen when he flashed it at her. It probably saved him from getting his head bitten off.

She gave his phone a cursory glance and scowled again, reaching for a set of keys and closing her door behind her as she crossed the hallway to unlock Ivory’s door.

“Thank you,” he said softly, meaning it. Then he decided to try something and offered his hand. “I’m Raphael.” She looked down at it like he’d offered her a bug, backing away a step. It seemed uncomfortable, though, rather than offended, so he withdrew it and smiled reassuringly at her. “I’ve had a few dates with Ivory. I’m hoping to have more, which means I guess I’m hoping to be here more often, and I want to apologize for my behavior the first time we met. I was completely inappropriate.”

Cass sighed softly, crossing her arms over her belly. “You were,” she admitted. The silence stretched between them, what his textbooks called a pregnant pause. Most people disliked silence, so they tended to chatter to fill it. Raphael wanted to, anyway; he wanted to apologize again, to ask for her name, anything to fill the quiet, but he bit down on his lip and waited instead.

The wait paid off. “You can call me Cassiopeia. Only Ivory can call me Cass.” It was grudging acceptance. He could work with that.

“Bright star, were I as steadfast as thou art,” Raphael began, a grin melting across his face and his eyes probably shining. She raised an unimpressed eyebrow. He reconsidered the choice of poem, and bit his lip against boring her with the rest of it, even if Keats was one of his favorites. “Thank you,” he said again. “For unlocking the door.” She nodded and walked away, waiting and watching by her door. He suspected she’d be keeping an ear out for a while, overprotective of Ivory and already set against him. He wasn’t sure if the thought was comforting or not.

Ivory’s apartment was dark even for his keen eyes. He called out softly, shutting the door behind him and blindly groping for the counter to set the groceries on. Once he found it, he had to stand there until his eyes adjusted enough to find a light switch.

The decoration was sparse, more like a model home than a lived-in space. A small piano sat on display in the corner, with a couch opposite the window. There was no television, and the room was clean of errant mess- no scarves hung across the back of the couch, no forgotten drinks on the end table, no bills spread across the counter. That wasn’t to say the entire apartment was sterile, however. There was a standing coatrack near the door with two coats on it and a pair of shoes neatly tucked underneath. A flier for a recital hung on the refrigerator with magnets, slightly askew. In the sink was a dirty bowl, and one of the cupboards had been left ajar; this seemed out of place, so Raphael closed it, then opened it again, biting his lower lip against the invasion but burning with curiosity. As he’d suspected, the bowls, plates and mugs were all of a matching set. Raphael took care in closing the cupboard silently, absurdly happy for no real reason.

He left the light on in the front and explored down the hall, noticing a great deal more now than the first time he’d been here. Then again, he’d been very pleasantly distracted the first time.

There was an ivory-shaped lump under the covers on his bed, and pale hair spilled out on the pillowcase. Raphael could see well enough with the residual light from the hall, so he left the bedroom light off and leaned in the doorway.

“Ivory?”

The shape on the bed stirred, then went very still. “Raphael?”

Raphael kept his voice soft. “I brought you some food. Can I come in?”

Ivory sat up and rubbed his face. When he spoke, he sounded wrecked. “I texted you?”

“You don’t remember?” Raphael frowned in concern and stepped closer, moving slowly until he could sit gently on the bed, wanting more to get to the same eye-level as Ivory than to get closer.

“No, I do, I just.” Ivory rubbed his face again. “Headache. Hurts to look at the phone. I wasn’t sure if I dreamed it.” Raphael’s heart was doing something absurd and romantic and this was no time at all for being hopeless, so he squashed it down and tried to remember the way Luvander acted when one of them was ill.

“I brought you some food. Just some pasta, nothing fancy, but I can throw it together for you really quick?” Luvander would have already had a thermometer in Ivory’s mouth, an icepack on his head and something bubbling on the stove. Raphael decided that he was bad at being Luvander, but he’d keep trying anyway.

Ivory was just looking at him, puffy-eyed and rumpled and somewhat incredulous. “You don’t have to do that,” he whispered, and Raphael almost broke apart wondering if he’d ever had someone to care for him.

“Do you want to eat in bed?” Raphael was already rising.

“Gods, no,” Ivory sounded revolted. Then he groaned slightly, shifting to sit up. “Can I shower first,” even his voice was exhausted, he couldn’t even form a question. Raphael leaned down and kissed his forehead, smoothing his hair out of the way.

“I’ll wait in the kitchen,” he promised. “If you aren’t out in twenty minutes, I’m going to come in to rescue you.”

~~~

_Ivory_

Ivory couldn’t fucking believe he’d actually texted Raphael. He stood in the bathroom for a full minute, behind a locked door, just trying to cope with the fact that things had gotten so hopeless that he’d actually convinced himself it was a good idea to text fucking _Raphael_ of all people to _bring him food_. They weren’t even _dating_.

Were they?

He had to close his eyes and remind himself that Raphael had, in fact, seen him naked before, and had done things to him while naked, so undressing to take a shower was actually less weird than refusing to get undressed while he was here no matter how awkward it felt in the moment.

Why hadn’t Raphael said no? There wasn’t anything in it for him. Nobody was that fucking nice.

He showered quickly, loathing himself the whole time for being such a mooch, fuck, for having his maybe-boyfriend come over after only actually seeing him twice and then seeing him like _this_. Ivory had barely gotten out of bed except to use the restroom, he wasn’t sure what day it was, and he smelled like he hadn’t showered in a few days, which was typical enough for a migraine. He missed his brothers, but there wasn’t much they could do from so far away and he’d hate himself even more if he made them travel for hours just to take care of him. Besides, they were fucking loud, and Raphael was actually very quiet. He wrapped the towel around himself and ventured into his room to find fresh clothes, feeling a bit brave for it- Raphael only being a few feet away, in the kitchen. Ivory smelled pasta and herbs and his stomach actually cramped in hunger. Once dressed, Ivory had to sit on his bed, dizzy and exhausted. He could make it to the kitchen, eventually, but apparently the week of headaches and fasting had left him so weak that showering and getting dressed was enough to leave him as drained as a five-mile run on a good day.

Raphael found him there, sitting up and half asleep, and sat next to him to let Ivory rest against his chest. The warmth of him was incredible. The little circles Raphael was rubbing into his back were even more incredible. He barely registered the soothing little flow of words coming out of Raphael’s mouth urging him to get up and eat.

He managed, somehow, walking into the kitchen without _anyone’s_ help thank you _very_ much, and sat down at the table to a meal every bit as mouthwatering as it smelled. He was grateful that Raphael didn’t try to help him eat or anything equally humiliating; Ivory might have stabbed him in the face with his fork.

“This is really good,” he observed after a few bites, wishing despite his general embarrassment that Raphael were maybe just a bit closer.

“You’re welcome,” Raphael hid his smile by raising a glass of water to his face. Ivory only snorted and continued eating, reminding himself to go slow even though his belly felt like a black hole, consuming and erasing the rest of him.

“There’ll be leftovers in the fridge,” Raphael said, more playing with his food than actually eating it. Ivory wondered if it was too cutesy to steal a particularly juicy slice of tomato off his plate. “And, of course, I can come back and cook for you anytime. I have this amazing risotto recipe..” Maybe if Ivory menaced him with a knife first? But no, that would send the wrong message about possible boyfriend stuff. “And, of course, my housemate is a really amazing cook so I coooould just make him put in the work and then bring it over.”

Ivory scooted his chair over so that they were sitting closer and Raphael faltered into silence, a smile melting across his face. He leaned in close. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted space or not,” he admitted.  Ivory leaned over as well, pressing up against his warmth, wondering if he was a fucking furnace all the time and would that matter in the summer heat? He figured he’d cross that bridge when they came to it, and stole Raphael’s tomato. He felt, more than saw, Raphael’s laugh and disregarded it; if Raphael didn’t want his food stolen, he could eat it faster or guard it better.

“What else do you need to do today?” Raphael’s nose was pressed into his shoulder, the kind of casual physical affection Ivory had only seen on screen. “Any chores? I have the car, I can drive you around.” His arms were loose around Ivory’s waist, something he liked very much.

“Nothing,” Ivory murmured. He was too sleepy to go out anyway. “Maybe tomorrow?”

Raphael stayed quiet for a long moment, then kissed his shoulder. “Do you want to go back to bed?” At Ivory’s soft assent, he pulled his chair back and collected their dishes. Ivory tried to protest, but Raphael would have none of it.

They wound up back in bed, Ivory climbing in fully dressed, too exhausted by the thought of changing into pajamas in front of company to do anything else. He lay there, feeling a bit like a spoiled brat, and waited for Raphael to crawl in bed next to him or to tuck him in. When he finally did appear, Ivory patted the mattress next to him. Amusingly, it was not Raphael who took him up on the offer, but Andromeda, slinking out from under his bed and hopping up onto the mattress to butt her head against his hand and cast a wary look at the new human in the room.

“I didn’t know you had a cat,” Raphael sounded amused. He sat down next to her, holding out a steady hand for her to get adjusted to his scent. He looked delighted when she pushed her head up under his palm.

“You were distracted the last time you were here,” Ivory allowed magnanimously, watching them with the tiniest bit of envy. Andromeda didn’t normally take to new people. Raphael pulled himself onto the bed slowly enough to not startle her away, patting her with one hand and slipping his arm under Ivory’s pillow smoothly enough that Ivory had another pang of jealousy at how easy he was in everything he did.

There had been a moment, their first night together, when Ivory had run his hands over Raphael’s arms and simply marveled at the muscle of him. He had that moment again, admiring something he’d never really appreciated on anyone else before- Raphael was changing the things he liked, and he didn’t even know how that was possible, but here he was, swooning over a finely-shaped bicep.

Raphael laughed softly, pulling the covers over them. “You’re meant to be sleepy,” he reminded Ivory, but there was no maliciousness in his voice. Andromeda curled into a ball between them, making it impossible to get as close as he wanted to, though it was probably for the best. The last vestiges of headache were still clinging to his mind and body, and sleep was better than sex for getting back to 100%.

“I’m just making sure I have nice dreams,” Ivory smirked, and watched as Raphael’s breath hitched over it.

“Go to sleep,” he pressed his nose into Ivory’s hair, voice soft. “I’ll stay as long as I can.” Ivory, despite his renewed interest in staying up, was betrayed by his eyelids turning heavy and another yawn creeping up on him. Tomorrow, he whispered, not sure if the words came out or not. He fell asleep like that, his head resting on Raphael’s shoulder and his cat purring at his waist.

~~~

_Raphael_

When Raphael woke up, it took a long moment to remember where he was. He wasn’t alarmed, because Ivory smelled familiar and was pressed bonelessly against him, the little spoon with Raphael’s numb arm underneath his head. Rich yellow late-morning sunlight played on the pillow near his hand, dappled as it shone through some tree outside, and he spent a moment being thankful that it hadn’t actually touched his skin, because waking up to blisters was never fun.

The room wasn’t so bright it gave him a headache and he could see things he’d never have noticed under artificial lighting, like the pale tracery of veins under Ivory’s skin, and the fact that his hair was not actually white but a very pale blond. He placed the lightest of kisses to the back of Ivory’s neck, closing his eyes and inhaling. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, it had just sort of happened. The cat had vanished again and they were pressed together under the covers, warm and cosy.

Ivory turned around, blinking against the light.

“Morning,” Raphael greeted with a soft smile.

“Mmmmno,” Ivory groaned, pressing his face into Raphael’s chest. Raphael bit back a grin and estimated it ranked at least third for Cutest Things He’d Ever Seen. He pressed his face into Ivory’s hair.

“Yes.”

“Noooooooo.”

“Did you sleep well?” He started gently rubbing Ivory’s back, bringing him back to life. It seemed to work, as Ivory pressed into his hand and made a soft appreciative noise. After a moment of this, Ivory leaned up and swung his leg over Raphael’s waist, almost straddling him but keeping a few inches between their bodies. The blankets slid down, pooling at their knees.

“If I say I feel better, are you going to stop touching me?” Ivory’s voice was low and rough, thick with sleep and another, obscured emotion that Raphael couldn’t quite place.

Raphael blinked a few times. “Only if you want me to,” he murmured back, hyperaware of the space between their bodies. As much as he wanted to bridge that gap, he kept his hands at Ivory’s waist where they’d been before.

Ivory leaned in closer, still not quite touching but his breath hot on Raphael’s face. “What if I don’t want you to stop?”

Ah. So this was the game. “Then everything’s on the table, as long as you want it,” he smiled, biting his own lower lip, considering what he most wanted to do. “Can I kiss you?” He was rewarded with a hitched and shuddering breath, fluttering lashes and a slow nod.

He started at Ivory’s jaw, sucking on the pale skin and trailing the softest little bites up to his ear. He had to lean up to reach, but that was alright, if having that control made Ivory more comfortable. His lips touched neck, ear, neck again, unhurried and luxurious. The skin under his lips was soft warm silk, and the smell of him intoxicating.

Raphael wondered just how lightly he would have to suck on Ivory’s skin to leave a mark, so he began some very pleasant experimentation. The lightest began just under Ivory’s ear, where he could feel the soft skin jumping on his lips with Ivory’s pulse, faster than normal. He dragged his lips and teeth, oh so lightly, down Ivory’s jugular towards the hollow of his throat and heard the helpless needy sound only a second before their hips met. Raphael surged up before he could help it, shaking a little from the weight that was getting him hard with dizzying speed. Ivory was still sitting up, though, making Raphael lean up to reach him, a teasing sort of game that he liked very much.

Long fingers weaved into his mess of curls and pulled his head back with a sharp tug, sending little sparks of pain through him, but any complaint was chased away by a bruising kiss. Ivory seemed to enjoy the passion of it, opening his mouth right away for Raphael’s tongue, but he didn’t complain when they settled back into a more sensual pace. Not out loud, anyway. After a sweet eternity of slow, hot kissing, Ivory began to subtly shift his hips, rocking up and down in a rhythm that pushed out all coherent thought. Raphael retaliated by sliding his hands down and grabbing Ivory’s ass, pulling him closer. He took the opportunity, when Ivory opened his mouth to gasp, to move to the other side of his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a clear mark on the tender skin.

He should have realized what was happening much sooner, but it wasn’t until his lips curled back that he realized the instincts that were raging to life along with his libido. When his teeth brushed soft skin, he startled back into self-awareness and pushed Ivory away sharply, scooting backwards and falling out of bed with a yelp. Ivory, rumpled and indignant, poked his head over the side of the bed and glared at him, but Raphael turned away with a hand covering his mouth. Adrenaline burned in his blood and beneath it was a sharp need. His fangs pressed against the skin of his palm, not quite piercing the skin but making little indents in it. He got up, ran stumbling to the bathroom and stood just within, shaking, bringing himself under control.

“What the fuck, Raphael-“ Ivory walked after him, but the black, furious tone in his voice changed to a startled, almost too soft whisper. “What the _fuck_?!”

Raphael glanced back, and Ivory was glancing between him and the mirror, wide eyed. Of course. It wasn’t enough that he’d almost fucking bitten through Ivory’s skin without even realizing what he was doing- he’d rushed out last night, in a hurry, and now it was daylight and he was fucking starving and he was so much of an unorganized disaster that he hadn’t even realized the thirst until it was raging through him. Being distracted was no excuse, and may actually have made it a worse offense- the awful media portrayals made him want to keep sex and blood two _very_ separate things, and yet here he was. In case his mistake didn’t make him enough of a monster, he just _had_ to stand in front of a giant mirror and not reflect in it.

Damn the laws of physics and their stupid, ridiculous exceptions anyway.

He wanted to cry with frustration.

“I honestly have no idea how the mirror thing works,” he began, since Ivory was still looking back and forth with warring alarm and fascination. “I have never heard an explanation that was even close to satisfactory.” He lowered his hands, trusting that his fangs had retracted, hoping to be able to clean up at least some part of the disaster he’d caused.

“You..” Ivory covered his throat with his hand, realization dawning. “You son of a bitch.”

Raphael cleared his throat. “It’s not normal, you know. For them to come out. And my mother was a saint, thank you very much.”

“Right,” Ivory sounded angry and brittle, “Because you’re a fucking vampire, but it’s okay because you’re a _nice_ one.”

“Because normally,” Raphael fought to keep his emotions under control because now was _really_ not a good time to cry, “I’ve had enough blood to keep these things put away. I meant to go home last night and I fell asleep here instead.” He hugged himself, suddenly dreadfully uncertain of everything. What if Ivory turned him out? The day outside was bright and sunny. “I was in a hurry and I just. Forgot.” He considered, in a flash of ridiculous distraction, that Natalia would smack him upside the head to hear him talk in incomplete sentences.

A long silence passed, miserable in its expectations and hostility. When Ivory finally spoke, Raphael tried to hide his flinch. “…Does food help?” It was not the question Raphael had expected.

“Sort of? But actual food is kind of like.. like trying to fill up on water. My stomach stops growling but I haven’t fixed anything.” He’d tried. There hadn’t always been this easy access- easy being a relative term, of course, since he had to go through _fucking Rook_ every time he needed to pick up his blood- so he’d tried a lot of substitutions and tricks to fool his body out of its monstrous need. Nothing had worked, but he did know his body’s idiosyncrasies well enough to gauge whether there was any true danger. The current lifestyle was a balance between food, pills, and as little fresh blood as humanly possible. It worked very well, provided he didn’t _tremendously fuck_ _up_ by going a full night without it, but he could, if necessary, go another few nights without it, so long as he was up to being in a lot of mental and physical pain as his body began to consume itself. “Other than that it’s a lot like being hungry. I get weaker, maybe a little shaky. That’s it.”

Ivory stood in front of him, guarded but calm, and maybe that calm was meant to be reassuring but Raphael couldn’t help but feel nervous. Ivory had to know that he held all the power, here. “Okay. What happens now?”

Raphael sighed. “Nothing. I sit here and deal with my hunger pangs until the sun goes down and I can go home.” He tried for a smile. “Got any good books?” There was still the terrifying possibility that Ivory would kick him out. Best not bring it up. He might not have had the idea to do that.

“You’re not going to..” Ivory waved his hand in a circle, undoubtedly summoning ideas from every trashy film that had been released in the last three decades. “Turn into a giant bat, or..” The look on Raphael’s face must have been impressively unimpressed, because Ivory stopped and actually took a step back. “Okay, none of that. You’re still you, just… sharper?”

Raphael snorted. That was something Niall might have put on a t-shirt. “I’m still me, just sharper. I like that.” He looked away, arms crossing tighter. “The worst that will happen is that sometimes the fangs will come out before I can control them, so if they do, I just need a minute to tell myself to calm the fuck down. You’re not in any danger, I promise.”

Ivory considered this, then nodded. “Okay. Let’s go back to bed then.” He turned and walked to the bedroom. Raphael stared after him, wide-eyed.

~~~

_Ivory_

Raphael looked like a statue Ivory had once seen, some modern art installation titled _anxiety_ or something equally horrendous. His shoulders were tense, his chin tucked in, defensiveness in every line. He probably wasn’t expecting to get invited back to bed. That was partly why Ivory did it. He liked that Raphael didn’t take intimacy for granted.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Raphael protested.

Ivory regarded him coolly, assessing whether this adorable idiot really deserved to be in his bed. “You said you have control of yourself. Were you lying?”

“I..” Ivory refused to feel guilty for this. Raphael unfolded his arms and ran his hands through his hair, which was irritatingly distracting. “No. I mean, yes, fuck, I have control, but I think staying awake is a better way to keep control than going back to sleep.” He looked almost like he was pleading for Ivory to understand, when really, Raphael was the idiot here. The entirely too handsome, hot mess of an idiot.

“I wasn’t planning to sleep.” Really, how much clearer could he make it?

Raphael’s eyebrows damn near met his hairline, and even though neither his complexion nor his personality seemed ripe for a blush, he was slowly turning red. His mouth opened, then closed, and he leaned back, processing this. Ivory watched it all, amused and patient. “Really?” Raphael finally asked, disbelieving.

“Really.”

“I. Okay.” Raphael shook his head in wonder. “Really, though? Because you are trusting me more than I trust me, right now.”

Ivory reached up and pulled off his own shirt, discarding it in his laundry hamper, refusing to display anything but unruffled cool even when Raphael made a tiny helpless noise. “If you’re so worried, maybe I should tie you to the bed.” He said it lightly, intending it as a joke rather than a serious suggestion, but another _noise_ made him look up in mild surprise.

“So,” Raphael said weakly, a hand over his mouth, “That, um. That doesn’t sound like an entirely bad idea.”

Resisting the urge to laugh, Ivory pulled a tie he didn’t particular care for from his closet. He sauntered closer, unhurried, menacing Raphael backwards until his knees hit the bed and he sat down hard.

“You want a distraction, Raphael? Alright. I’m going to tie you to the bed, and then I’m going to see just how long I can distract you.”

 

 **5.**  
Ivory

Ivory sincerely wished he had alternatives when it came to asking for rides. That was to say, he wished he had alternatives that weren’t Royston or Caius.

Merritt was the least irritating of Ivory’s bandmates, even with the incessant tapping and hilarious lack of attention span. He was a decent musician on more than just drums, so Ivory was predisposed to like him alright, and he had a passion for fire that rivaled Ivory’s own and had, once upon a time on a holiday night, gotten them both arrested. They’d agreed to keep the incident between themselves, and it spoke well of Merritt that Ivory didn’t mind him knowing. Of course, Caius knew also, because Caius made it his business to know everything incriminating about a person, but Caius didn’t count because he was family and Merritt did count because he’d stuck around when he could have fled and left Ivory alone holding an illegal firecracker.

Merritt, unfortunately, came hand in hand with Evariste, who was at best a know-it-all and at worst a smug motherfucker who was too stubborn to know when he wasn’t wanted. It worked out well enough for Evariste, as far as Ivory was concerned; stick around long enough and you become accustomed to the company your friends keep. Ivory had reached a point where he tolerated Ev, despite the incessant sexually charged bickering with Merritt. This didn’t mean Ivory wanted to spend any more time than necessary with him.

Still. Evariste was the one with the van. And he really was a better choice than Royston.

“So wait,” Ev was laughing, “You’re seriously telling me you’re sleeping with that curly haired, goth-wannabe stalker guy? Ive, you can’t do this. We _make fun of him from backstage_ , you’re taking away some prime entertainment here.”

Merritt gave Ev a frown, but he didn’t let go of his hand on the gear shift. “Nah, Ev, _you_ make fun of him from backstage. You make fun of everyone from backstage. You didn’t stop making fun of Royston from backstage even when he came backstage and _yelled at you_ because he could hear you mocking his moustache.”

“It was a very silly moustache and it deserved to be mocked. I regret nothing.”

“I’m just _saying_ , how does Ivory sleeping with him stop you from making fun of him?”

Hilarious and witty banter, Ivory thought drily, giving them both a murderous stare in the rearview mirror. It was the best he could do from the back seat, short of actually stabbing them, and if he did that he’d never hear the end of it.

From the street, Raphael’s house looked disappointingly normal, even a bit run-down. Ivory couldn’t help but notice that there were no graveyards for at least a mile, and that made him wonder what he’d actually been expecting. He was able to hide his reaction until he got out of the van and stood outside with his hand still on the door, but Merritt, more perceptive than he was usually given credit for, frowned in concern. Ev, either picking up on Merritt’s expression or more in sync with his boyfriend’s moods than either would admit, leaned over and gave the house a curious look. “Need us to come in with you? We could be moral support.”

“You just want free food,” Merritt accused, but he was smiling, fingers tapping a soft and fast rhythm on his knee. Evariste shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair, only succeeding in making it stick up worse than before. “It’d give Ivory a way out without having to wait for a ride home. Y’know, if things get weird.”

Ivory stepped away and closed the door. “I appreciate your concern,” he said drily, “But I’ll be fine. See you at practice Saturday?”

“Be safe,” Merrit frowned at Ivory, a little crease forming between his eyebrows. “Yeah,” Evariste chimed in helpfully, “No accepting drinks from open containers, that sort of thing.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ivory slapped the side of Merritt’s van and backed away, waving, ignoring Ev’s indignant yelp.

The front was a tangle of weeds with some sparse grass growing, though there were little planter boxes of herbs near the house that didn’t look terribly neglected. A little stone statue of a gnome in a meditative pose raised some questions, but he got past it and knocked at the door. He thought he’d been prepared for anything, but when an actual lumberjack answered the door, he realized just how unprepared he was for potential weirdness and reconsidered this entire adventure.

“Heyyyy, you must be Ivory.” The first thing Ivory noticed about the man was that he looked like he spent more time in the wilderness than was entirely healthy. Perhaps it was the plaid overshirt combined with short pants and leather sandals, or the man bun and beard combo that so many hipsters were rocking lately, but everything about this very tall, very wide man made Ivory think he might be looking at a man who willingly spent time with bears. The second thing he noticed was that one sleeve was rolled up and pinned below the elbow, but Ivory’s manners were too good to allow him to stare.

“I am,” Ivory managed, trying to bury his wide-eyed nervousness under a façade of dry indifference. He had questions about where a man that size could even purchase clothing; were there shops for giants that he was unaware of? For fuck’s sake, could this man bench press an entire bear?

When the lumberjack stepped aside for Ivory to enter, Ivory found, to his utter mortification, that he couldn’t bring himself to actually move, because moving would require him to put this man at his back in a strange house and that was a little too much to bear. He seemed to understand, though, and got a twinkle in his eye as if Ivory’s fucking mortifying anxiety were amusing him, and he leaned on the door, looking far too relaxed. “On behalf of the absolutely horrendous trio that live here, welcome to Dragon Castle. Why is it named Dragon Castle? I’m so glad you asked.” His grin, Ivory thought, was the shit-eating variety. Despite this, he couldn’t dislike the man just yet. Possibly because he was too intimidating. “You may have noticed that it is not a castle, nor does it have dragons. Disappointing, I know.”

Ivory was saved from a fate of standing awkwardly in the doorway, forever, by a familiar face peeking out curiously to see who the bearded madman was terrorizing. Ivory hadn’t been so glad to see anyone, ever. Raphael seemed happy to see Ivory, too, by the big stupid grin that melted across his face. “Mags,” he said in a fond and exasperated tone, “I think Niall might need some help in the kitchen. He’s getting the parsley and cilantro mixed up again.”

The lumberjack’s one, shovel-sized palm met his face halfway, and he muttered through it, “How? How can he not tell? Lovely to meet you,” and then he was gone and Ivory could breathe again. He moved closer to Raphael, peeking into the house and bearing Raphael’s indulgent smile.

“I’ve never seen a man that ripped outside of the gym,” he whispered, and Raphael had to cover his mouth to disguise a snickering laugh.

“Wait until you see Ghislain,” and then he was pulling Ivory by the hand into the house, pressing him against the wall opposite the door for an indulgent kiss with his hands cupping Ivory’s face. Their noses pressed together after, and a heady rush of want swirled through both of them. “I’ve been missing that for days,” Raphael whispered, and the way his voice was thick with desire made Ivory’s knees weak.

They had been texting all week, but they hadn’t actually seen each other, and the only phone call they’d shared had been a midday, breathless sort of secret call after a long string of increasingly provocative texts. Ivory was glad he lived alone; had there been even the slightest risk of someone overhearing him talking like that, Ivory would have been too mortified to leave his room at all, ever again.

“Why do I have to be here, again?” Ivory tamped down his anxiety once more and allowed himself to feel smug and possessive. He trailed his fingertips up Raphael’s arms and allowed his palms to come to a rest on his chest, glancing down to admire what he could feel but couldn’t quite see. Raphael’s shirt had some very elegant brass buttons that would make a fantastic clinking noise if he pulled the shirt open without unbuttoning them.

“Because I want you to meet my family, and, well…” Raphael smiled and tilted his head. “This is the closest thing. Can I introduce you around?”

“I suppose,” Ivory conceded, fingers brushing Raphael’s throat just above his collar and smiling when he noticed the slight shiver it caused. “But only if you kiss me again.” Raphael was only too happy to comply, blunt nails dragging lightly against his jawline and making his knees nearly buckle. Ivory was halfway to suggesting they find a private room when they were interrupted by a guest passing by.

“That looks like a tasty treat,” smirked a slim, dark man with wicked eyes. He patted Raphael’s bum as he passed by, too smug for Ivory’s liking, but by the time Ivory had dealt with Raphael jumping and squeaking and pressing harder into Ivory in a futile attempt to escape, they were alone again.

“Jeannot is a fucking menace,” whispered Raphael, hiding his face in Ivory’s shoulder. “Beware of him.” Ivory wrapped his arm around Raphael’s shoulders, a bit of an accomplishment with the inches Raphael had on him.

“Do you need me to defend your honor?” He asked in a dry tone, lips tugging up at the edges. Raphael made a muffled sound that could have been a spoken maybe, and even though something inside him was turning warm and uncomfortably gooey, Ivory pulled himself together enough to pull away from Raphael and take his hand to brave the small crowd of the house.

“There weren’t supposed to be so many people,” Raphael whispered apologetically, squeezing his hand. “Just us and the neighbors, really, but then Esther found out and she’s as much of a hopeless gossip as Luvander is and now everyone is here and,” he caught his breath and squeezed Ivory’s hand again, pulling him close, “Well. Just remember that everyone here is terrible.”

Raphael’s house was filled to bursting, not with people (although there were those, too, for a given value of ‘people’) but with things. The walls were obscured under tapestries and decorations. Clippings of plants were pushed into every sill where they could get some sunlight under the heavy-looking draperies, which were pulled back to expose the moonlight and let in the springtime breezes. A table pushed against a wall near the kitchen was covered in food and beverages, with a few noticeably empty spots that Ivory suspected would soon be filled if the mouthwatering smells from the kitchen were anything to go by. The hallway he’d passed was filled with shoes of all sizes, from petite and feminine to mountain-troll-sized.

If there were actually trolls, as well as vampires, Ivory decided that he would find a ride home even if he had to get one from Caius fucking Greylace. There were just some things a man couldn’t be expected to handle.

Further into the house there were open French doors leading to a garden where some very fancy ladies were gathered. It was every bit as green and wild and magical as the front of the house wasn’t, and there was no apparent answer for that odd detail. The inside of the house was less crowded, except for the kitchen, where, to Ivory’s dismay, Raphael was leading him.

Luvander was sitting on the kitchen counter, watching Mags and a slim, boyish brunette with dark skin and generous lips fight for control of some bubbling, fruity concoction. Behind them stood a man who dwarfed even Mags, arms crossed over his broad chest and the same wicked smile as the one called Jeannot.

“Gentlemen,” Raphael smiled, winking at Luvander and if he thought Ivory didn’t notice that wink he could think again, “I’d like to introduce you to Ivory.”

“Ohhhh, is this the boyfriend, then? I hear he’s in a band.” The brunette’s eyes were sparkling with new mischief, and he left the- Sangria, maybe?- to Mags. He gave Ivory a cursory once-over, coming to a quick conclusion but giving no hint as to what that conclusion might be. Ivory instinctively disliked him at first sight, but then, he instinctively disliked most people at first sight, so he made a passable effort to hide it for Raphael’s sake.

Luvander hopped off the counter, which could not possibly be a sanitary sitting location, and sidled up to the brunette with a wicked smirk. He hid his mouth with one hand, stage whispering loudly enough for them all to hear clearly, “I heard he was goth.” Without the sunglasses from before, Ivory could make eye contact with him over his hand, and despite Ivory’s efforts to keep his distance that was exactly what happened. The lack of actual malice was faintly surprising.

“He doesn’t look like a goth.” Two very judgmental looks were aimed his way, piercing and amused. If it wasn’t for Raphael’s hand on the small of his back, Ivory would have turned to leave rather than feel like a mildly interesting bug being added to a collection, pinned for display. He rallied.

“You must be Niall,” Ivory deadpanned, watching Raphael give Luvander a Look as if he was trying not to yell at Luvander and trying not to laugh at him all at the same time.

“Charmed,” Niall said, slinking an arm around Luvander’s waist. “You’ve already met Luvander, I’m jealous, I’d love to meet him all over again,” they shared a look that Ivory had seen before. It was the look Merritt and Ev shared before they disappeared for an hour during practice. It was the look Hal occasionally gave an oblivious and blustering Royston. It was a look that made Ivory want to set things on fire.

“I’d give you the experience if I could,” Ivory told him earnestly. Raphael badly disguised his laugh into a cough.  

The rest of the introductions were made without utter nuclear disaster. He learned that the lumberjack who’d greeted him at the door was Magoughin, occasionally nicknamed Mags or Maggie, and he had some kind of talent with plants that may have had something to do with a greenhouse fill of questionably legal herbs across the street. The other giant beside him, the one Ivory might have mistaken for a mountain troll except for the wicked wit and humor written across his face, was Ghislain: Magoughin’s husband, and probably a weather witch (a title given by Niall and neither confirmed nor denied by Ghislain himself). He learned that Niall could and would turn absolutely anything into innuendo, and after a brief but civil conversation he was willing to admit that perhaps Luvander didn’t want to skin him alive so much as ensure that he was worth Raphael’s time. At some point during this long ice-breaking kitchen party, a cup of the sort-of-sangria was pressed into his hands and, hoping it would quell some of his anxiety, he actually drank some.

It was A Mistake, but as far as mistakes went, he’d made worse ones. The alcohol was stronger than he’d expected, but it did take the edge off, and he was able to maintain a neutral face for the rest of the night.

They eventually migrated from the kitchen to the patio, where Raphael parted from him with a quick kiss to the back of his hand and approached a petite young lady. She could have been Raphael’s sister, from behind; she had short, curly black hair, though hers was not naturally curly and she seemed made of sharp angles where Raphael was soft. He whispered something in her ear and she giggled, glancing his way with bright green eyes and a predatory smile on her red, red mouth.

Ivory stayed right where he was, thank you very much. The alcohol permeated into his very bones, making him loose and sort of wobbly, and he was very much not up for dealing with strangers and vampires. He didn’t quite want to leave, either, because Raphael kept looking for him while socializing and smiling in a soft way. He didn’t insist on dragging Ivory around, or standing next to him in misplaced solidarity. It was uncommonly nice.

“You okay there, kiddo?” A massive hand dropped onto the top of his head, and Ivory could swear his feet sank three inches into the ground from the weight alone. The blond lumberjack, Magoughin, was grinning at him, probably intending it to be nonthreatening and also probably not taking into account that he could snap Ivory in half with one hand. One massive, shovel-like hand. And just like that, the anxiety was back.

“I’m never going to get used to this,” he whispered helplessly.

“What? People can have barbecues at midnight. It’s not even weird for normal humans.” The giant had a beer on top of Ivory’s head, which was somewhat irritating since he could feel the condensation drip into his hair, and besides that was completely unfair considering he’d been the one to push the sangria into Ivory’s hands without so much as mentioning that there was a milder alternative. His hair was nice, though. And he was still talking. “Or were you talking about something else?” His smile had turned gentle. What was he, some kind of wise old mentor? Surely that was a fictional trope and not an actual thing that happened?

“It’s a lot to take in,” Ivory allowed.

Magoughin smirked, pulling his beer off Ivory’s head, thank _fucking_ regina. “Everyone’s got quirks,” he said softly, “Even you, I’ll wager. No, really. Bet you a drink there’s something about you that the rest of us think is weird as hell. We’ll find out.” He shrugged. “And we’ll like you anyway, unless it’s fucked up, in which case we’ll probably still tolerate you because we like Raphael.”

“I hope you like beers,” Ivory’s mouth twisted, a grin of self-regret. “I’m not that good at mixing drinks.”

“Ha. So what is it? Do you sleep hanging upside-down? Ooh, I bet you have six toes. Tell me when I’m getting warm.”

Damn, Ivory hadn’t meant to make any friends at all, and somehow here he was with one more to add to the short list.

 “I don’t sleep like a bat,” he said mildly. “Do you?”

“Only when I’m in a really kinky mood,” Mags grinned conspiratorially and oh no, Ivory felt warmth touching his cheeks, even Royston wasn’t this outrageous. Usually. “You know,” Mags was still talking, “If you don’t tell me I’m just going to go around telling everyone you’ve got six toes.”

“I’ve heard worse about myself,” Ivory smiled, despite his earlier assertion that poker face was best face. They fell into a comfortable silence, Mags sipping his beer and Ivory wondering how to ask the question that was nagging in the back of his mind. He watched Luvander laugh wickedly at something Ghislain said, and he noticed, for the first time, that Niall’s apron said “blow the cook.” The garden itself was exploding with plants, grass growing between the steps and roses growing up a trellis on the side of the house, and there were fairy lights hung up everywhere. The ambiance was one of comfort and beauty, and everyone tonight had been friendly without being overly familiar. He wanted to belong here.

If Mags wasn’t a witch, he was at least perceptive enough to notice Ivory start to slip back into thoughtfulness. “Beer for your thoughts?” 

“They’re vampires,” Ivory said slowly, still wondering. “And you’re witches. Right?” He looked up and Mags shrugged, still smiling. “What does that make me?”

“Lucky, I think.” Mags raised his beer bottle like he was toasting something. “Come have another drink. You look like you need it.” He sauntered ahead, raising his hand and calling out to Niall. Ivory only hesitated a moment before choosing to follow him in.

**Author's Note:**

> The band: Royston (lead vocals), Caius (backup vocals and tambourine), Ivory (keyboard), Merritt (drummer)  
> -Hal, band manager and Royston Wrangler  
> -Evariste, owner of the van they use to get around and Merritt Instigator  
> -Cassiopeia, inspirer of terror and rescuer of cats
> 
> The Vampires: Raphael (poetic disaster), Luvander (tragically fabulous), Niall (inappropriate), Esther/Yesfir (etsy haberdasher and fierce babe), Natalia (plucky dame)  
> -Ghislain, weather witch and protector of packages vampires receive in daylight  
> -Magoughin, possible plant wizard, procurer of dat fine herb
> 
> The Werewolves: Amery (pack leader and head babe), Jeannot (unacceptably attractive scrounge), Balfour (professional cutie patootie), Mercy (ironically named party animal), various others unmentioned but around  
> -Thom, hapless human (??) boyfriend  
> -Rook, unknown and awful


End file.
